


Extracurricular Training Activities

by subtropicalStenella



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Clone Education, Diagrams, Frank Discussions About Genitalia, I REGRET NOTHING, Pining, SO MUCH ALCOHOL, Sex Education, Women Being Awesome, Women Looking Out For Other Women, xenosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: Prequel to NonRegulation Maneuvers. Bly gets an unsolicited but well-meaning Education on How To Operate Your Alien DreamGirl's Junk from a gaggle of cheerfully enthusiastic waitresses.





	Extracurricular Training Activities

“Talk is better, you know.”

He nearly chokes on his beer. Just the one, now kinda warm and flat, and the waitress laughs at him, but not cruelly. A Twi’lek, like the rest of 79’s waitstaff, this one tall and skinny and pinkish-peach with rows of spots down her lekku nearly hidden by all the purple glitter that also covers her cheekbones, shoulders, and the slope of her small breasts.

“You are  _ stariiiiiing _ ” she sing-songs, her thick Huttese accent somehow coming out lilting and pretty as she cocks her hip, balancing a tray of empty glasses on a hand over her shoulder. Her lekku twitch sideways towards the other waitress he'd been caught watching. “Go talk. Will not bite.”

She grins wide when he blushes, and cocks her head thoughtfully. “Hmm. You  _ are _ pretty,” she says, and runs a finger over her sparkly cheek, mimicking his tattoo. “Maybe bite if you ask  _ very  _ nice.”

“I-I--That’s very--Thank you, but--”

She squints knowingly at him and nods sharply, satisfied with his awkward stammering. “M- _ hm _ ! Not shopping. Thinking, yes? You have girl you like, but not here. So you watch and wish for girl far away?”

What? He starts to shake his head, a little wide-eyed, and she smirks.

“Soft blue, yes, your girl? And--”

She slices her free hand through the air, down the side of an exaggerated hourglass, and giggles when he stares. How did she...?

“Slow night. I watch girls you watch.”

Oh.

“She's. Not far away,” he mumbles into his beer.

“Then why stare at pretty girls that are not your girl?”

There is no possible way he can explain this without sounding like a complete idiot, so he doesn't try.

Her smile is a little more gentle this time, but just as knowing as she leans sideways against the booth, balancing her tray on her bony hip. “Too shy to tell her.”

She's. Not entirely wrong.

She sighs. “This girl. She is special?”

That he can answer, but he can't manage more than a nod. She nods soberly back.

“I will help her.”

What?

Why is she sitting down?

_ What is happening? _

She sets her tray down on the back of the booth and sits next to him, resting her elbows on the table. 

“So.” 

She eyes the pins on his chest. “Commander…?”

“Bly.” Why did he give her his name? Why did he acknowledge his  _ rank _ ? The whole point of going out in his greys was to blend in a little. His armor was too distinctive, but there was no way in any hell he would go out in public in his blacks, therefore, casual uniform. Even if the wool felt stiff and strange and loose in places, despite being “perfectly tailored”.

“I am Trixi.”

He shakes his head, frowning slightly. “That's. No. What's your real name?”

Her eyebrows go up, and he ducks his head. “I. I know you don't get. You. Twi’leki girls don't… don't have the best lives. And. Ryl names are too hard for customers to pronounce sometimes.”

“Your girl told you this?”

Nod.

She smiles. “Teksa.”

He says it a few times, carefully listening to her repeated pronunciation until he can get the K to click right, strangely far back in his mouth. She looks significantly less tired when she smiles. A real one now, softer than her laser-bright Customer Service Smile. She rubs her hands briskly together, and her smile is mischievous again.

“So! You have been with women?”

Does she time these remarks when he's drinking on  _ purpose?! _

“Pardon?”

She smirks and holds up both hands, poking the forefinger of one hand through the circle formed by the forefinger and thumb of the other.

“Erm. No.”  _ This can't be happening. _

Teksa cracks up, lekku twitching merrily behind her. “Your  _ face!  _ Like me! So bright!”

She grabs his hands to keep him from sliding under the table. “Sorry, sorry, important questions, promise. No teasing. Getting… How is…? Bottom of basic. Root of thing. Base…?”

“Baseline?”

“Yes. So--”

“No women, yes men, a couple of them. Just humans. Clones like me,” he rattles off quickly, before she can embarrass the hell out of him again.

Her eyes crinkle up in a hidden smile, biting her bottom lip. Well. At least he's entertaining. She lets him go and does the hand-rubbing thing again.

“ _ So.  _ First is men--” She taps one forefinger down on the table.

“--and women. _ ”  _ The opposite forefinger, a good distance away from the first.

_ “Veeeeery  _ different,” she intones, swirling her fingers around on their respective sides of the table. “Mostly. Complicated sometimes but mostly different. For simple, we use two. You would not be shy if you know what is happening in her pants.”

“I know basic anatomy,” he grumbles, a little indignant. “Human, Twi'lek and a bunch of others.” Just the pertinent information for things like field triage but  _ still. _

“Better than some men I know,” she mutters darkly, but her eyes sparkle.

“Different is not only bodies and brains. Is sex too. Men are…”

She shakes a loose fist up and down in the air before flicking her fingers upwards to finish the galaxy’s most obvious rude gesture, and sticks her tongue out. “ _ Thbbbbbpt.  _ Easy.”

“For you, play with whole body is nice. Women, is _ne-ces-sa-ry._ _Very_ for twi’leki.” She pokes the table with both fingers for _em-pha-sis_.

Is it possible to die from embarrassment? He might find out. And he feels the need to defend his gender a little. When all you can usually get is a few hasty, secret minutes in a closet between watch rotations, being  _ easy  _ is a blessing. But she soldiers determinedly on before he can say anything.

“So. First is hands.  _ Lots  _ of touching. Soft places, long movement, like this--”

She runs her hands up the insides of her arms, palm to wrist to the curve of her elbows. “Legs is ehn.”

He must look a little disappointed, because she's doing the happy-squint thing again, where she's trying not to laugh at him. “Is nice for some, maybe is nice for your girl. Try and see maybe.”

She won't let him explain that while  this is all very kind of her,  the odds of him actually  _ trying _ any of this is so far beyond impossible that he might as well try becoming a Jedi himself. Instead, her hands come up to the base of her neck, smoothing down and forward to her shoulders, dislodging a small hailstorm of purple glitter. “This is  _ very  _ good. Pet, rub, lots of kisses. Good for sexy touch  _ and  _ stop stress happen. Can't go wrong.”

… okay  _ maybe  _ that. She  _ did  _ carry a lot of stress tension in her neck and he was well aware that stretching only did so much. Maybe…

“Who’s your handsome friend, Trixi?”

Another waitress, this one pale green and curvy, with coppery glitter and stripey lekku, no trace of an accent and a full tray of brightly colored shots, the kind people pick up on the go and add to a tab. She's smiling too, but with a slight brittle edge indicating several other layers to the question.  _ Are you okay? Is this guy bothering you? Do you need rescuing? _

Teksa answers in a cheerful gabble of rapid-fire Ryl that has the green waitress relaxing, then growing visibly interested,  _ then  _ grinning delightedly. His name is mixed in there somewhere.

“Good for biting too,” she says, free hand on her hip. “Shoulders, I mean.”

“ _ Gentle, _ ” Teksa admonishes, pointing at him warningly. The other waitress winks broadly, still grinning, and then… oh no. Oh  _ no.  _ She puts her tray on the table and sits down on his opposite side.

He's being educated by committee.

“Alema,” she says, holding out her hand to shake. The vowels are all very soft and husky, the emphasis all in the second syllable.

Teksa regains his attention by picking up one of her lekku, pulling it over her shoulder and waving the end of it in his face. “Now this. Not just for pretty wiggle.  _ Very important. _ ”

There were a lot of things that were very important, apparently, but Alema is nodding soberly too, so...

“Lots of pets, lots of rub, like this--” she continues, running both hands down the length of her right lekku at once, so she can wrap the entire surface in her fingers, switching to one hand as it tapers near the end, then back up, repeatedly stroking near the root, and midway down.

“Do  _ not _ squeeze,” Alema adds, gesturing with one of the shots off her tray for emphasis, then tossing it back. He considers a moment, then presses his fingerprint onto the datapad, adding it to the clones’ collective tab. She smiles brightly at him as Teksa nods enthusiastically.

“And none of this--” she says, pulling her fist down the end of her lekku, squeezing like Alema  _ just _ said not to, and rolling her thumb over the tip, treating it… well. Treating it exactly like a dick.  

“Noted,” he says awkwardly, and dithers a moment, considering asking a question. Miraculously, they both pause long enough to let him think. “She… She wears a headband with a harness, like…”

He zigzags a finger down from his head, halfway down his chestplate, mimicking the straps. Both women make disgusted faces and  _ blegh  _ noises, Teksa going so far as to flap her hands like shooing off some kind of flying pest, her lekku twisting together slightly.

“ _ Bad bad bad-- _ ”

“So she's a soldier, your girl?” Alema asks, chin on hand, watching him slyly.

“Not exactly--I--Wait, if it's  _ bad  _ why would she wear it?” Was it a Jedi thing?

Teksa rolls her eyes with another disgusted sound, this one a little more drawn out, and Alema answers him.

“Not bad, exactly, but it’s uncomfortable. Necessary sometimes, like for pit fighters and soldiers,” she explains, and pulls her lekku together behind her head, the way he's seen the General connect the straps on hers before a bad engagement. “Keeps them out of the way.”

“Keep them  _ quiet _ ,” Teksa grumbles. “Stiff and sore and  _ quiet.  _ And make headaches.”

Right, lekku movement was a part of speech and emotional expression. Theirs  _ did  _ seem more… active? Talkative? “So…?”

“So take harness  _ off _ , first thing,” Teksa says, like it's obvious.  "Rub where straps and buckles go, little circles.” She wiggles her thumbs accordingly. “Kill headache,  _ then  _ sexy.”

Alema purses her lips thoughtfully, cocking her head. One lekku tip ticks slowly back-and-forth, like the tail on a loth cat. “Speaking of…”

She turns to Teksa, and they have a brief, trilling conversation in Ryl. He rolls his beer bottle between his hands until they both nod in decisive unison. Alema continues with, “Alright, this is  _ secret,  _ got it? Get your girl in front of you, her back to your chest--”

“No clothes!” Teksa adds, and takes a shot for herself, as pink as she is. He taps the tab again to avoid responding to  _ that _ .

“Right, skin-on-skin, that's important. Get your arms around her, kiss her, that kinda thing, then gently--”

_ “Very gentle! _ ”

“Yes.  _ Gently _ pull her lekku back over your shoulders and let them trail down  _ your _ back. It's a  _ huge  _ turn on,  _ if  _ she likes you. Which, if you've gotten  _ that  _ far, she obviously does.”

Teksa nods, the tips of her lekku curling up and outwards in unison. Would it be weird to ask what all of  _ that  _ means? “Feels  _ very  _ nice. Is like... Can taste you? Not right words but… eh. Close?” She looks frustratedly at Alema, who shrugs.

“It doesn't really translate to Basic. Definitely do it, though.”

“Do what?” Someone else, oh  _ kark  _ it, someone  _ else _ with a  _ weird  _ accent--sharp and crisp and clipped--asks, and he jumps, looking up at yet another waitress, this one candy-red with bold black stripes on her lekku and  _ face  _ and down her chest and arms. One of the refugees from  _ way  _ out in the ass end of nowhere where everyone sounded extremely fancy and a little bit menacing. Almost like some of the high Coruscanti politicians, but slightly off. She has a datapad in her hands, a stylus tucked into her headband, and a bunch of holomenus stuffed into her belt. Her costume is less magical-sparkle-princess and more black-letheris-and-spikes. Her stiff top is laced up very tightly around her waist and covers more of her torso than the others, but it makes her breasts defy physics. He swallows uneasily as Teksa and Alema explain. In Ryl. Again.

She cocks her head while she listens, looks at him, and takes one of the shots off Alema’s tray--electric blue and fizzing cheerfully--to plunk it down in front of his nervously interlaced hands.

“I’m Silais, and you look like you need this, love.” She says her name like people usually break it into too many syllables, and makes it fade off at the end, like a sigh.

Teksa cackles, banging her hands on the table as Silais sits down next to Alema, forcing her to scoot around the table, closer to Bly. “Yes! Catch up!”

What the hell, it's not like he can embarrass himself any  _ worse  _ while sober. He tosses the shot back to applause, wincing at the sharp burn of  _ sweet  _ alcohol that threatens to fizz right up his nose.

“What's next, tits?” Silais asks idly, and smirks when he flinches guiltily. “Yes, tits.”

She reaches out to pat his hand with a more reassuring smile. “It's quite alright to look, darling. They  _ are  _ rather fantastic, aren't they?” Teksa rolls her eyes and  _ groans _ while Alema snickers, and takes another shot.

“Your girl, she has…?” Teksa asks, gesturing between Alema and Silais. Both of them briefly sit up a little straighter, posing. They  _ want  _ him to look?! That makes. Absolutely no sense. It's acceptable with permission?  _ Encouraged?! _ They're all looking at him expectantly. He indicates slightly off the middle line between them, towards the Silais end of the scale, but not nearly so. Uhm. That.

All of the blood in his body has apparently relocated to his face.

Teksa doesn't have. Well, she  _ has  _ them, obviously, but not. Alema and Silais both. Should he reassure her? Nope, she's laughing at him again. Does she read  _ minds _ ?!

“Good for her. And you. You be  _ nice.  _ No grabbing,  _ gentle _ squeeze--”

Alema--oh hells, Alema  _ demonstrates _ on herself. Just as well, Silais might fall out if she moves wrong.

“We're mammals too, so nipple play is most definitely encouraged,” Silais says, which is almost _worse_ , and she wrinkles her nose when she smiles, chin on hands. “Sucking is lovely, licking is better--”

“ _ No biting! _ ”

“A  _ little  _ biting perhaps, but very,  _ very  _ gently,” Silais adds, winking. No, this is definitely worse than Alema. Somehow.

“Don't  _ just  _ play with  her nipples though,” Alema cuts in, poking his shoulder with a warning finger. “There's a lot of tissue there, appreciate it. Lots of kisses, all over. And use the backs of your fingers along the curves.”

“Ooh, yes, that's--hand please!”

What.

Silais snaps her fingers impatiently until he holds out his hand.  _ Why. _

She runs her fingers over his, from palm to fingertips, mapping his calluses, which almost tickles, and rubbing her thumbs over the backs of his fingers and knuckles. She nods. “Yes, absolutely. You have good hands. Switch between the front and back, callused and not, all over her. Down her lekku and spine especially. She'll love it.”

Collective nods around the table, and he carefully takes his hand back, hiding it under the table. He has good  _ hands?  _ What even? Silais squints at him, and plunks another fizzy blue shot in front of him, taking something crystal clear and smoking ominously for herself. Teksa and Alema both pick orange, tossing them back in unison. The second shot burns just as much as the first.

“She got a lot of scars, your pit-fighter?” Alema asks contemplatively.

“She's not a pit-fighter,” he answers quietly. “Not a soldier either. But she has a few.”

She has seven. Five of them are the exact same age as some of his. Down to the day, the  _ minute _ , in two cases. He has a lot more than she does, but that's his  _ job. _

Silais nods. “Pay attention to them. Scars, freckles, blemishes. Soft kisses, touches. They're special, even the ones she doesn't like, because they're hers alone.”

Now she's the one with the soft, knowing smile. “And the memories that go with them, the reasons she has them.”

What do these women know about him and how do they know so _much?!_

Teksa reaches across the table to tap Silais on the nose. “Beep! Too serious.”

She plunks a pink shot in front of Silais, and grins. “Is fun lesson. More drinks!”

Silais laughs ruefully and drinks as she was told. Teksa slaps the table for attention again. “Oh! Also is good for serious: watch close…”

Without further ado, she stretches her entire body across the table, practically climbing onto it to take Silais’ face in her hands, turn her face sideways and--

**_THBBBBBBPPPPPT_ **

\--make a ridiculous, flatulent noise into Silais' cheek until she squeals and flails, shoving Teksa away as all the girls laugh, and startle a chuckle out of him, too. Teksa looks immensely pleased with herself as she sits back down.

“ _ Much  _ better,” she says, and begins casting around the table, looking for something. “Now,  _ most _ important parts--”

She gives up her search and sticks her finger into a syrupy, purple-sparkling drink, starting to draw on the dark surface of the table, until Alema scoffs, pulls the stylus out of Silais’ headband and hands it to her.

Teksa chirps her thanks and restarts her drawing, the stylus leaving clean, glowing blue lines on the table in front of him. Two curving lines like parentheses, a Y shape low between them. Wait. Hang on. That's. Oh no.

She draws a brisk circle around where the arc of each hipbone would be, and another over the line indicating the inner thighs. “Kiss here, here, and here. Sometimes is spots or stripes like lekku. Your girl?”

“I-I don't think so. I don't know.” If she  _ did  _ have spots there, they would be nearly invisible, faint dappled mottling rather than distinct spots and stripes like the women here. Most people thought she didn't have any markings at all. Even as low as her pants tend to ride on her hips, even if he  _ did  _ look, which he didn't, ever, he probably wouldn't see anything. Not unless he was… really close. Or. Something.

“Well, now you do, just in case,” Alema says brightly, blessedly distracting as Teksa starts drawing again. More parentheses, between them a dot near the top, a vertical line, a second dot below that, and a small asterisk underneath everything. What.

“What…?”

Teksa rolls her eyes and points downwards into her lap. Oh. He was afraid of that. She draws a little arrow pointing at each dot. “Most very important parts. Is same like Human girl but two. Is...  _ jiljoopleen." _

“‘Two jewels,’” Alema adds, translating but not making any sense anyway.

“Yes. Is--”

Teksa breaks off, clearly lacking the proper vocabulary and snapping her fingers at Alema expectantly.

“It’s basically a clitoris,” Alema says.

A what?

“A what?” Silais asks, to his complete, undying gratitude.

“My sister says it's kinda like the head on a Human dick, only it's a bitty lil’ thing,” someone drawls, and he nearly jumps out if his boots as a dark blue Twi'lek drapes herself and her empty tray enticingly over the side of the booth nearest Teksa and winks at him.

“But come on now, you cain't teach him’bout  _ that  _ from a diagram,” she continues with a lazy smile. “I’m Vrei, I got twenty minutes 'til I'm off the clock, an I’d be happy to give you a guided tour 'round the real thing, sugar-lips.” She rolls the R in her name, says 'thing’ like there's an A in it and she's getting green glitter everywhere.

At least until she stands bolt upright with a yelp, dropping her tray with a clatter to cover her backside with her hands as  _ another  _ woman slides past her into the booth, successfully managing to squish him between Teksa and Alema. This latest one is a true orange compared to Teksa’s peach-pink, somehow built incredibly delicately without looking frail. She's also saying something in Ryl to Vrei. He's not entirely sure, with his  _ very  _ rudimentary crash-course in the language, but it sounds like it might be something like “Don't scare the baby.”

_ What?! _

The new girl doesn't say anything to him beyond, “Firith,” and indicating to herself. Presumably it's her name, the second syllable emphasized harder than he expected. She also takes his cover off the table, setting it at a jaunty angle on her head, between her lekku. The hat isn't designed to fit Twi'lek but she makes it look stylish anyway.

Oh look someone put another shot in front of him. Still burns like hell and he's starting to feel a little dizzy. Teksa slaps Vrei’s hand away from the rest of the electric blue shots and makes her take a green one. He should… probably participate more. And Vrei  _ was  _ the one to put things into terms he understood.

“So… it's…  _ They _ are really sensitive?”

Teksa smiles like sunrise and Alema says something in Ryl to Firith, who immediately grins and nods emphatically at him, her eyes rolling back in her head. Oh. Translating.

“ _ Best  _ way to get your girl’s rocks off, pay attention to those,” Alema answers. Silais takes over translation duty as Teksa cuts in again.

“Is little, like--” She holds up a hand, indicating the nail on her smallest finger. He dimly notes that she also has double-jointed thumbs. Do all Twi'lek? “Darker than skin, is squish-hard button. Rub gentle with fingers. Circles, wiggles, fast and slow. More hard with tongue.”

“My  _tongue._ ”

“ **_Yes!_ ** ”

That is the first time they've all spoken at once, let alone  _ that  _ emphatically. Firith answered without even waiting for translation so it must be important.

“For goddess’ sake, use your mouth down there,” Silais continues with relish, Alema translating. “Treat it like you're kissing her--”

“More tongue than kiss!” Teksa adds sharply, and gets a series of sage nods.

“You'll know you've got it right when things become quite wet, soft and--”

“An she digs her heels into your shoulders, pulls your hair--not that you have much--bucks her hips, moans, begs, outright  _ tells  _ you that you're doin a good job...” Vrei adds, ticking off fingers, and then shrugs. “It varies.”

Uhm.

Silais scowls at the interruption and continues. “Yes, well, the most obvious sign, especially if your girl happens to be  _ quiet--” _

He can't help but snicker at that, it was obviously a dig at Vrei. The girls look delighted.

“The most obvious sign is a lot of fluid. We're more or less self-lubricating, you see. Things are designed for penetrative sex and our bodies help that along.”

Wait. Penetr… He's not drunk enough for this. Should he be worried that this shot doesn't burn as bad? Did he kill his tongue? He  _ needs  _ his tongue, apparently.

“I'm. Uhm. I'm Command stock. We're… bigger than Standard.”

Skeptical eyebrows are starting to go up around the table, and he rushes to explain.

“I'm pretty sure it was an accident! But we're bigger… uhm.  _ All over _ , y’know, and I don't. I won't… It won't be a problem or anything, right?”

_ He was wrong.  _ He is  _ too _ drunk, obviously, because how can he even be considering this as a reality? They prove it by tittering smugly at him. This was a mistake. He should. Dissolve into the booth. Or something. Find the nearest airlock.

“He ain’t braggin,” Vrei remarks, coming to his rescue. He completely forgives her for earlier. For everything. She can do no wrong. “Had a sweet thing from the 212th once, scairt all to hell cos his weren't as nice as  _ Commander Cody _ …”

She breathily, blatantly mockingly sighs Cody's name, and grins as the skepticism turns to contemplation. “Still doable though, don't you fret your pretty head, sugar.”

Oh good.

“Well then, you'll just have to use your hands first,” Silais reasons blithely. “We'll get to that in a moment.”

Is there a system to this he doesn't know about?

“We  _ really  _ cannot emphasize how important these bits are,” Silais continues, but Teksa draws half a dozen more arrows pointing at the relevant dots anyway. And exclamation points.

“Two hot spots.  _ Two!  _ And most men still can't manage to find even one for long enough to be interesting,” Alema grumbles. Teksa translates.

Well that's just  _ stupid.  _ “Why don't they just ask?”

Clearly they don't have a problem with explaining!

A lot of things happen at once. Teksa, Silais and Vrei fling their hands into the air, saying something he’s reasonably certain is a prayer of thanks to their goddess, and Alema grabs his head, yanking him sideways to plant a loud, sticky, bright metallic orange kiss on his cheek. He gets a purple one from Teksa on the opposite side immediately after. And red from Firith, half smeared across the side of his nose, because she had to climb over Teksa once someone translated.

“ _ Thank you.  _ Smart boy! You tell your boys  _ ask.  _ Ask is better than guess, better than  _ nothing. _ ”

He's definitely a little dizzy.

“Now then, some women like one more than the other, but until you figure that out on  _ your  _ girl, try to give equal attention to both,” Alema says, picking up where Silais left off.

How…?

Teksa shrugs. “Ehn. Count, make pattern, switch between…”

Did he say that out loud or are they actually reading his mind?

Firith steals the stylus while Teksa continues and Silais translates, adding to the diagram by drawing a figure-eight that hits both dots via the top and bottom loops, crossing over the line… slit… The bit in the center.

“Ooh, yeah. That. Do that,” Vrei says, leaning over to watch. Firith looks very smug as she hands the stylus back to Teksa.

“O-Okay?”

Firith is watching him  _ very  _ closely, comes to some sort of internal decision, and… leaves the table? Did he say something wrong? She's talking to the bartender.  _ Why _ . They do not need more booze, there's still plenty of shots. Five fizzy blue ones even! Four now.

She comes back with an entire  _ jar  _ of the bright, artificially red little long-stemmed fruit things they use to garnish some of the fancier drinks, says something at him while she opens it and the  _ entire table  _ cracks up laughing.

“She says she's going to show you a magic trick, to practice,” Alema translates, still giggling.

He watches as Firith digs a cherry out of the jar, pops it in her mouth, and snaps off the stem. She chews, swallows, and then holds up the stem significantly before putting  _ that _ in her mouth too.

What even…?

She holds up a finger in the universal “Wait” gesture, closed mouth moving slightly, until she smiles and sticks her tongue out with the cherry stem resting on the tip.

There's a knot in the stem now, and she's holding the open jar out to him. Oh.

It takes him four cherries and a lot more time to manage the trick than Firith, but the whistling and cheering around the table is worth it when he finally spits out a knotted stem. Teksa whoops loudest of all, mashing another purple kiss into his temple and scruffing her fingers through his razored-short hair. The cheering turns into an adoring croon--“ _ Soft! _ ”--and he leans sideways, laughing as Silais makes grabby-hands until she can pet him too. Right, hair was a  _ thing  _ with Twi’lek.

He commandeers the jar of cherries, because one: They're delicious. Two: Practicing gives him something productive to do while the girls argue about something else and pet his hair. Therefore, three: It's not stealing because it has Strategic Value.

Firith snaps her fingers at him and he immediately gives her his free hand. Someone should tell the Kaminoans that the approval of attractive people wearing a lot of glitter is far more effective than coercive or aversion training. He is also wearing a lot of glitter right now. All the colors. And lipstick! He should bring glitter back to the barracks. It's nice. But it gets all over the everywhere. Maybe lipstick would be better.

“Wait, you said something about using my hands,” he asks, sitting back up as Firith pulls his hand over the now heavily edited diagram.

“We did!” Alema chirps, and Firith turns his hand palm up, curling his fore- and smallest fingers towards his palm, leaving the middle two extended over the slit-line

“Human,” she says, and Vrei snorts.

“Well that ain’t gonna help him none.”

Firith rolls her eyes, apparently not needing a translation of Vrei's sarcastic drawl.

“Is  _ compare _ ,” Veksa says, scowling, and Firith nods sagely after Silais translates, then continues her demonstration, making him flex his middle fingers together, like pulling a trigger. Once he mimics her motions to her satisfaction, she briskly shakes his hand out by the wrist until he spreads his fingers out again.

This time she turns his hand palm down, keeping his fingers extended, middle two bent slightly at the last knuckle so those fingers would… would slide  right inside her, his fore- and smallest fingers framing… e-everything. She manipulates his hand a bit more, so his thumb brushes against the lower dot. Rather than just curling his fingers, she has him move his whole hand in a sort of rocking motion. Except only covers one of the… bits. He's supposed to do  _ both _ \--

Firith apparently picks up on his confusion, and grins mischievously, wiggling the fingers of her free hand significantly.

Right. He does have two hands.

“Using your mouth and hands together is better, naturally,” Silais adds. He's starting to get the impression that's a  _ thing  _ for her. “All the tricks you learned earlier in addition to this.”

Alema snickers. “Just watch where you put that thumb, sweetheart. Not  _ too  _ low.”

“Not unless she asks,” Vrei adds, doing  _ something  _ with her eyebrows that looks incredibly obscene despite the fact that Twi'lek technically don't  _ have  _ eyebrows. And  _ Silais  _ nods in agreement.

He's. Not going to think about that. Just watch while Firith rearranges his fingers again.

“First way is better,” Veksa remarks, gesturing with one of his knotted cherry stems. He's currently trying to get two knots on one stem, just to see if he can. “Works for front and backways.”

“Back _ wards _ ,” Alema corrects gently, and Veksa flaps a hand in acknowledgment.

He temporarily swaps his half-empty jar of cherries for another shot, because they are amazing.

“Okay. So. What about for… uhm. If...”

Nope, he can't say it.

“Best positions?” Silais prompts, grinning.

Nod.

That was apparently a very loaded question. A  _ very  _ spirited debate breaks out, mostly in Ryl, but with enough Basic to be both confusing and slightly terrifying. He's pretty sure a  _ Scarif Sunrise  _ is a drink, not a sex act. Firith and Alema get into a brief scuffle over the stylus, Alema only wins because Firith pauses to shove the many,  _ many  _ empty shot glasses out of the way to clear enough table space to draw  _ another _ diagram--this time with stick figures. Vrei, Silais and Teksa are in deep conversation that appears to consists entirely of code phrases like  _ Reverse Nerf Herder  _ and  _ Alderaanian Oyster  _ and  _ Coruscanti Chandelier  _ and something to do with cephalopods and “Humans cain’t even  _ bend  _ that way!” is both intriguing and unnerving because she sounds like she's speaking from  _ experience _ and it's starting to get  _ really loud  _ until Teksa grabs an empty beer stein and bangs it on the table like a Judiciar’s gavel.

“ _ Enough!  _ Is too much. Stay  _ basic, _ ” she snaps, and gets the girls under control faster than some of his Lieutenants can wrangle their men. He tries to tell her as much but he can't quite make words do the thing. She seems to get the compliment though, because she's amazing.

“So. Best two: You remember back-to-front, from earlier, yes?”

“Lekku over my shoulders.  _ Very _ gentle.  _ Gently _ ,” he confirms, nodding, and gets Silais’ matte black lipstick across his jaw.

“Brilliant!”

Yes he is. He was  _ made  _ that way, dammit. That's why they gave him the extra stripes. The girls think that is  _ hilarious.  _ They are reading his mind again.

“An 'cos y’all’re  _ bigger _ , right?”

_ Yes. _

Vrei wants to see but Teksa tells her No and Teksa is In Charge so he only gets his jacket partway undone. Which is a shame because he has more tattoos and Teksa likes the ones on his face and the other ones on his back are  _ so much better. _ He’s getting sidetracked. Teksa is talking again.

“So! Back-to-front, very good for sex. Both on knees, your girl in your lap.  _ Very  _ good with busy hands. Play with all the things, like this--”

Firith takes the stylus before Teksa can even get started on her next diagram, and quickly sketches out a stylized but beautifully coherent illustration of the position. (Much better than Alema’s stick figures but he won't say. Or think it. Because mindreaders.) She even puts little dashes on the bottom person’s face for his tattoos.

It all makes technical and mechanical sense, clearly the most efficient way to utilize all his new knowledge. Also he'd have the absofuckinglutely fantastic curve of her ass snuggled right up against his  _ things he's not going to think about in public. _ One problem.

“'M not gonna be able to see anything,” he explains sadly. Because with their heights--if she's--when they--his face would be pressed between the roots of her lekku, which will be  _ amazing  _ because it would be soft and warm and  _ sensitive  _ and he's pretty sure that's the  _ point _ and they're laughing at him again, but there's cooing and more hair-petting involved so he must have done or said something they liked.

“That’s what the other way is for,” Silais giggles, and Firith sets to work again, leaning across the table for free drawing space.  Aayla in his lap again, yes, excellent, he strongly approves of this, but  _ facing  _ him, which is  _ so  _ much better, especially the way Firith has her leaning back, braced against his upraised knees with her head thrown back and his hands on her hips. The stretch and flex of her tight stomach and her  _ legs  _ framing his sides and he needs to have another drink to distract himself before he really starts thinking hard about this holy shit. 

  
It goes down sweet and smooth as sin and Silais flags down another waitress and her name is Dira and she is another very pretty green and she brings more shots and they are all very pretty and very nice and Silais is very forgiving and very,  _ very _ soft when he ends up face first in her chest when he tries and fails to keep the tower of empty glasses from falling over. But they don't get mad because none of the glasses break and because they are all wonderful and amazing and so, _so_ nice.

\-- -- -- 

 

... Reveille has never been so painful. He has woken up with _broken bones_ that hurt less than the sound of his Captain banging a gauntlet on the side of the rack above him.

“Rise’n’shine, Kenobi. How's the head?”

“The head is 'Go fuck yourself, I did not pull a Kenobi,’” he groans. Everything is made of pain and itches. He  _ fell asleep _ in his greys. Where the fuck is his cover? Did Firith keep his cover? This is horrible. He has never been so dehydrated in his life and that  _ includes  _ the tour on Tattooine.

“Gonna have to disagree with you on that, boss,” Catch says, and he looks blearily up into a signal mirror.

_ Fuck  _ that is a lot of lipstick. Who was even wearing pink? Wait, no, that was… Feen. The singer. She showed up later. Very purple.

“I stand corrected. You're still an asshole,” he groans, and sits up, hanging his head over his knees. There is a not insignificant amount of glitter raining down around his socks.

“Oh, so you  _ don't  _ want this lovely little bit of contraband civvie chemistry we  _ so graciously  _ scrounged up for you,” Trick says from the foot of his rack, twirling a neon purple hypo of sweet,  _ sweet  _ electrolytic stim relief back-and-forth between his fingers. “After we recognized that you were completely _ shitcanned _ and bound to hate the universe in the morning.”

“Because we love you, of course, not because we're hoping to bargain a few of those girls’ holofrequencies out of you,” Catch says. His grin is too full of delighted mischief for his little speech to be entirely sincere.

“ _ Please  _ tell us you got their frequencies,” Trick begs.

He starts unbuttoning his jacket the rest of the way and tries to blink some of the gunk and glitter out of his eyes. “Maybe? I don't really… Oh. Huh.”

No less than twelve cocktail napkins have fallen out of his jacket, all of them covered in scribbles and multicolored lipstick. “Take your pick, I guess?”

“Fucking  _ score! _ ”

“Didn't actually,” he says, as Trick slaps the hypo into his hand and starts flipping through the napkins. (He didn't, there's no lipstick or glitter past his collar, he checked.) “They wanted to talk. Teach me a few things.”

“Oh  _ really? _ ” Catch asks with a sly, evil little grin.

He manages a grunt from inside his undershirt as he pulls it over his head. Not going to explain right now, not until the hangover cure kicks in. “Long and short of it is fucking  _ ask what they like.  _ They will tell you. With  _ great  _ enthusiasm. And probably yell at me if you don't.”

  
Not that he'd ever get to  _ use  _ the information the way he (and the girls) wanted him to. Still. It'd be nice to think about, sometime.

\-- -- --


End file.
